


Jus Primae Noctis

by Raelynn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Medieval AU, Right of first night, rated E for 2nd chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 18:06:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8220125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raelynn/pseuds/Raelynn
Summary: Prince Sherlock is startled to learn that the young maiden he's had his eye on is due to be married. But there's one way he can have her, at least once.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Couple of notes: First, I realize that there's no actual proof that Primae Noctis was ever a thing, but hey, I'm going to run with it. Also, the first chapter is very much G rated, the second will NOT be, so if that's not your bag, stop after the first chapter. 
> 
> This was one of those ideas that just would not get out of my head, and so it's posted here with no beta. Mistakes mine.

The Prince wasn’t aware when he first noticed her. She had always been in the background, for years, but little by little she would appear on the periphery of his attention.

Of course, it might have something to do with the fact that he was spending more and more time being treated by the healer who worked in the Castle.

His mother, the Queen, kept telling him that it was unbecoming for him to spend so much time with the soldiers who patrolled the grounds around the Castle, learning their fighting ways. Invariably, he would need to be sewn up, or have another injury looked after.

“Sherlock, you are a Prince! You are not a young child out playing rough and tumble with your friends. You need to be learning the ways of the King, for you will be taking over someday.”

“Boring,” he scoff, and the next thing she knew, he’d be off on patrol with the soldiers again.

But during those trips to see the healer, he started to notice the girl. She was not allowed to treat the Prince, or anyone else who came for help, but she would bring water, or towels, or medicinal herbs to the healer.

He hadn’t paid much attention to her at first, but over time he started noticing more. The way her cinnamon hair glinted in the candlelight. How he wondered how long it really was, all braided and put up on her head. The way her brown eyes soaked up everything the healer was doing, even as she tried to pretend she wasn’t paying attention. How tiny she seemed in comparison to his tall, muscular frame.

After a particularly tough week, when Sherlock had gotten banged up a few too many times sparring with a certain soldier he’d developed a friendship with, he noticed that perhaps the young maiden was spending a bit too long stealing glances at him, as well.

The next time he was visiting, he tested this theory. The healer was sewing up a cut on his arm, and Sherlock was looking around, ignoring what was going on with his arm. The girl had come in with a fresh basket of cloth, and Sherlock watched her. 

She looked up, intending to steal a glance at him, and was startled when she realized he was already looking at her. She dropped her gaze immediately and set down the basket, scurrying away back where she’d come from.

oOo

A few days later, Sherlock was back out in the soldier’s barracks, talking to John, a soldier he had developed a friendship with, despite the arguments from his parents about the appropriateness. His elder brother had already announced his intention to abdicate his right as heir to his younger brother, so Sherlock needed to spend his time preparing to be King, not flouncing about with soldiers.

“There’s a girl. Works with the healer,” said Sherlock, handing the skin of mead they’d been sharing back to his friend, John. “Know anything about her?”

John took the bottle and drank, searching his brain. “Brown hair, brown eyes, tiny little thing?”

Sherlock sat up, excited, “Yes, that’s the one.”

John shrugged. “Her name is Molly. She’s friends with Mary, the girl I’ve been courting.”

Sherlock nodded, and accepted the bottle back from John.

“She’s betrothed.”

Sherlock froze. “She’s what?”

John shrugged, propping his feet up on a chest and looking up into the rafters. “She’s betrothed to a man named Tom who lives down in the village. Mary says she’ll move down to the village once they are married, since she was only here in the Castle to work until she found a husband.”

Sherlock shrugged this off as if it was of no consequence to him, “Well, I guess the healer will have to find a new assistant,” he said, staring off into space.

John handed the bottle back to Sherlock. “Mary,” he said.

“What?”

“Mary is to be the healer’s new assistant. That’s how she knows Molly. She’s been learning from her.”

Sherlock’s mind spun, and soon he made his excuses and left John and the mead, retreating to his rooms to sort out the feelings he was suddenly having.

oOo

Being the Prince had its advantages, and soon Sherlock found out that Molly and Tom, the village blacksmith, were to be married in less than fortnight. He had confessed his interest in Molly to John, who listened patiently as Sherlock stormed around the barracks, running his hands through his hair. 

“You’re the Prince,” said John, simply. “If you want the girl, she’s yours. No one would stand against you.”

Sherlock stopped and stared at him. “Does she love him?”

John shrugged. “Mary says she is anxious to be married.”

Sherlock threw himself down on one of the straw beds. The idea of taking the young woman for himself had merit. No one would question a King-to-be when it comes to his choice of Queen. He was the Prince, and his will was second only to God’s. Not that he believed in God, but the peasants did. 

“Jus Primae noctis,” he said after a long search through his memory for an answer to his dilemma.”

“What?” said John.

“The right of first night. As the Prince, I have the right to any maiden in my Kingdom the night before her wedding.”

John stared at him. “She won’t be willing.”

Sherlock scoffed. “I’m the Prince.”

And despite John’s insistence that it was a bad idea, Sherlock could not be swayed.

oOo

The night before Molly’s wedding day, Sherlock had her brought to one of the seldom-used guest rooms in the Castle. The maid who fetched her was to explain to her what was to happen, and then leave her there.

Sherlock stood outside the door, thrumming with the excitement that the object of his desire was just beyond the oaken door, ready to be taken.

He pushed open the door and stepped into the room, ready to claim his prize.

Except he did not see her.

He cast his eyes around the room, finally settling on the small girl curled up in one of the corners of the room, her arms wrapped around her legs which were pulled up to her chest. She was sobbing.

She heard the door close behind him, and looked up, quickly jumping to her feet and into a hasty curtsey. “Your highness,” she said, trying to wipe away her tears.

“Why are you crying?” he said. “I bestow upon you a great honor.” The Prince stood, just inside the door, his hands clasped behind his back. He watched her.

“I’m sorry, Your highness. It was wrong of me to be upset. Of course it is your right to do whatever you wish with your vassals.”

Sherlock frowned. “Do you not find me attractive?”

Molly took a deep breath and met his eyes for the first time. “Of course, Your Highness.”

Sherlock huffed and rolled his eyes. “Not as my subject. As a woman, to a man.”

“Yes,” she said, biting her lip, “But a girl’s wedding night is frightening enough, without being summoned into a part of the Castle I’ve never even seen, with the promise that a near stranger, a Prince, will be …well.” She cast her eyes down. “But I speak too freely.”

She lifted her head, and stepped toward him. “I am here, at your bequest, and at your mercy.”

oOo

Sherlock froze as the girl approached him. All he’d been able to think about for the last few days was this moment, and now that she was here, in a bedchamber, within his reach…

He reached out as she approached him, placing his hands on her shoulders and leading her to a chair by the fire. “Sit.”

She sat. He cast a glance around the room, finding another chair and dragging it over to the fire, sitting across from her, but far enough away, he hoped to assuage her fears. 

The fire crackled and burned as he stared at her. She twisted her hands together in her lap, staring down at them and waiting. 

“Have I disappointed you, Your Highness?” she finally said in a small voice. 

It took Sherlock a few moments to find his own voice, and when he spoke, he was startled at the words that tumbled out.

“No, my dearest Molly. You have not disappointed me. I have disappointed myself in my actions here tonight. I’ve seen you with the healer, seen you watching me, have watched you from afar and let my own selfish desires completely overrun my good senses.”

He paused for a moment, “Although I suspect John and others would say I don’t have any good senses.”

Molly bit back a laugh at this, and Sherlock’s head swung up, looking at her. “Oh, there’s a smile,” he said. “I’m so sorry to have made you so upset.”

She looked at him this time, her eyes boldly traveling his face. He felt uncomfortable, and he realized that this is how others felt when he was able to figure out what they were thinking by looking at him. She finally spoke.

“I was of two minds when you would arrive at the healer’s. On the one hand, you were hurt, and my heart ached for you. But on the other hand, I selfishly enjoyed being in your presence.”

“You are to be married,” he said. “Tomorrow.”

She smiled a small smile. “He is the Blacksmith, and it is a fine match. I will bear him many children and raise them.”

“Come, now.” he said, smiling a soft smile at her. “Those are the words you were raised to say. But they are not the words in your heart.”

She shook her head, “I enjoy learning from the healer. I will never be a healer, for I am cursed by my sex. But I help him with the dead,” She blushed, speaking of such subjects with the Prince, of all people.

“You would continue your studies?”

“Oh, in a heartbeat, your Highness. But it is not proper for a married woman to engage in such things. I will go down to the village, perhaps learn midwifery.”

Sherlock sat back in the chair, staring into the fire for a long time. Molly sat quietly, waiting.

“You do not wish to marry?” he said, not taking his eyes from the fire.

A long silence stretched out before she finally answered. “I wish to marry. I wish to bear children. But I wish only that I could...I could continue working with the healer. That I could remain in the Castle.”

“You should have married one of the Castle servants,” he said, turning and looking at her. “Probably wouldn’t have helped with your studies, but you could have remained here.”

“No one was interested, milord. I am of an advanced age for marrying as it is, my options were growing thin.”

Sherlock nodded, returning his gaze to the fire. He stood, suddenly, tossing a few new logs in, and poking at them with the stick. “You could marry me,” he mumbled under his breath.

“I’m sorry, what?” she said, forgetting who she was speaking to.

He turned, stepping over to her and looking down at her. “You could marry me. You would remain in the castle, you could bear me very beautiful children, and…” he reached down, picking up one of her hands in his much larger ones. “Who could tell a Queen what she could or could not do in her spare time?”

She stared at him, her mouth hanging open as his words sunk in. “Your highness?” she whispered.

“I came here tonight to claim your body, as is my right,” he said, kneeling down before her, acutely aware of how inappropriate it was for a Prince to kneel to his subject. “I find myself, however, hoping to lay claim to more than your body. To your heart.”

She stared at him.

“I do not demand a yes,” he added. “I would not take that away from you any more than I was able to force myself on you once I looked into your eyes. One word from you, and you will be escorted back to your room and I will personally make sure your wedding feast tomorrow includes dishes from my own kitchen. I find myself far more concerned with your happiness than my own, something that has, I must admit, never happened before. With anyone.”

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and opened them. “But something tells me your wedding tomorrow would not bring you the happiness you so deserve.”

She stared at him, unable to form the words spinning through her head. Finally, she spoke. “I...you would allow me to continue my studies?”

Prince Sherlock leaned in, placing a kiss on the back of her hand. “I would not only allow it, I would encourage it. A mind like yours should be allowed to stretch and learn as far as it would go.”

“Then, yes, your Highness. I will marry you.”


End file.
